fall to pieces
by Nygmatech
Summary: This is not what enemies/brothers/best friends do. (Slash, incest. James/Regulus, Sirius/Regulus, Sirius/James)


fall to pieces

James Potter, as it turns out, is an incredibly _touchy_ drunk. Touchy, in that he's currently attempting to molest the poor innocent Slytherin trying to escort him back to the Gryffindor dorms. The rest of the House is still out partying on the Quidditch pitch, so here Regulus Black is with his brother's best friend draped over his rather small form, practically dragging the Chaser across the stone floors.

"I am not Sirius," says Regulus, cold grey eyes fixed forward as James presses a kiss to the junction of his jaw and neck, the slightest scrape of teeth, and despite himself Regulus twitches. He has to remind himself, he's only doing this because he caught Potter eyeing Severus with wand in hand, and his idiotic brother was too busy getting floored himself to responsibly take care of his best friend.

It's almost laughable, really. How many girls (_and_ boys) would kill to be where he is right now, and here Regulus is batting James' hands away from his robes while he tries to get the password out of the Gryffindor.

And the Fat Lady is sending them an incredibly disapproving look but ultimately has no grounds to refuse them when James finally spits out the password.

The real problem arises when, just as Regulus is planning on shoving James through the portrait hole and quickly slipping away before he has a chance to be seen with _Gryffindors,_ his brother's _stupid_ drunk best friend grabs his wrist and pulls him inside. The entrance slams shut and Regulus finds himself pressed up against the back of the portrait door in the next moment, a warm pair of lips on his own.

James is surprisingly gentle even as Regulus struggles against him, because the younger Black brother is weaker and didn't have quite the driving force that Sirius does; in body or in willpower. So he bites James' lip, hard, even as pleasant as this may be, because it's the _principle_ of the thing, and Regulus has more dignity than this, to let himself be taken advantage of by James _Potter_ of all people.

And…

"I'm not Sirius," he hisses again when James pulls back, but then… would it really matter? Regulus _knows_ the outcome of this either way, because James is older and stronger and determined, and it's been too long since Regulus has had a good fuck anyway, not to mention the part that well, isn't this all about taking things away from Sirius in the first place?

But then James _looks_ at him with an expression more sober than he has any right to be right now, says, "I know," and that's all it takes for Regulus to give in when James kisses him again, long and messy with the burning of firewhiskey on his tongue, give in when James pulls him up to the empty 7th year boys dorm, pins him to the tiny mattress, a trail of discarded clothing in their wake.

The feeling of stubble against his thigh, a soft kiss to his hip, and Regulus closes his eyes and dreams of drowning and never waking up.

* * *

It's funny, Regulus thinks the next morning as he's pulling on his trousers as quietly as he can so as not to wake up Potter's roommates, that this is the first time he's been in a room with his brother for months. And although he is attempting to leave without detection, that by no means indicates that he wants to go _unnoticed_, assuming he has so far—likely, when Potter's friends got back to the dorm last night they either couldn't tell who was in their friend's bed, or were _also_ too drunk to care.

It doesn't really matter, because either way Regulus has left a calling card—a note on James' bed signed R.A.B. and a Slytherin tie on the floor. He only doesn't want to be around when the storm hits, because this is a game of hide and seek, of testing limits and taking what belongs to his darling older brother, nothing else. The good sex was only a bonus.

* * *

Sirius corners him into an empty classroom later that day, looking at him like a rabid dog about to rip an intruder to shreds, and he practically _growls_ as he rounds on his brother, his brother who looks incredibly too smug and satisfied with himself for this.

"You're a _fucking_ traitor."

"No," Regulus corrects, the corners of his lips curving upwards, a mocking smile, "that's you, _brother dearest._"

And that earns him a sharp push, stumbling back a few paces as Sirius rounds in on him, "like _hell_ you're my brother."

But Sirius is more Black than he ever wants to admit, and this is how his family taught him how to love; it's in his blood, like the penchant for inbreeding that may or may not be relevant in this situation, because the Blacks love with harsh actions and harsher words, and estranged or not, Regulus loves his brother more than anything, which is why he lets out a short, curt laugh and follows up:

"Right, sorry, you're _his_ brother now, aren't you, living with the Potters? Bet you've wanted to fuck him for years, just mad I got there first-"

"Shut the _fuck _up, Reg, you don't know shit about James and I, so keep your creasy little Slytherin hands off him and go crying back to Snivellus since he and Mummy are the only ones who want you around."

Regulus ignores him, because Sirius has been out of touch with this for so long he doesn't even know what buttons to press any more. It's sad, really, they don't even remember how to _fight_ properly. So Regulus takes a stab in the dark, a double edged sword:

"You always wanted to fuck your brothers, Sirius, or is it just Potter?"

"Suck my cock, Reg," Sirius snarls, and he looks like he's going to lunge forward with another push, a punch maybe, but he doesn't, and maybe that's because Regulus has sunk to his knees in front of his brother, that mocking smile on his lips, and his pretty mouth is red and his eyes are dark as he looks up at Sirius and says,

"Sure."

Little games of power and control. That's all this is about. And if Regulus loves his brother and Sirius loves him, well, that's just beside the point.

* * *

Regulus dies on a clear, starry evening, and Sirius locks himself in the room he shares with James and watches the sky, tiny pinpricks of light so insignificant in the grand scheme of things, the stars they were always named after, but no more—the House of Black was broken and fractured long before they were born, the last sons, two stars who broke orbit and flew off course. But then, even stars have a lifespan, and Regulus always burned too bright and hot to last.

"Sorry I couldn't fix you, Reg," Sirius mutters to the sky, and turns away from the window… and there's James, standing in the doorway, caught, like a deer in the headlights. He shifts awkwardly from one foot to another, as if not sure what to _do_ when confronted with a situation like this, but settles on padding forward, an uncertain shot at consoling Sirius.

"He wasn't a bad bloke, once you got over, y'know…"

Sirius's laugh is dark and dry, and he closes the window. "You're only saying that because you let him blow you."

And James… just _looks_ at him, cautious, like he doesn't know if what's about to be said _should_, and Sirius knows what's coming because it must be written on his fucking face, '_hi I'm Sirius Black and I'm an inbred wanker who touched his innocent little brother inappropriately._'Only, Regulus had never been so innocent and he was fucking asking for it and if anything, Sirius was the victim here.

"So did you," James says, more than casually, and goes to sit on Sirius's bed. He's shirtless and his hair is still damp from a shower and Sirius _knows _what he wants but isn't sure how to say that this isn't the time, isn't sure how to tell James that he's going to be thinking about Regulus for the rest of the night, because Sirius has lost something he can't replace and try as he might James is never going to be able to fix him and he's never going to be able to fill Regulus's shoes no matter how much they fancy calling themselves brothers. James is what he wants, sure, but Regulus is what he needs, and he knew that when he was twelve and gave Reg his first kiss, assuring his brother it didn't matter what houses they ended up in.

"Do you want to, er…"

"I'm not Reg," Sirius states, but sinks onto the mattress anyway, fingers curling over the hem of his muggle band t-shirt as he lifts it over his head.

James blinks in confusion as if he doesn't really get it but then something clicks and he whispers, "I'm not either."

And Sirius laughs and laughs and laughs until he feels sick and in the dark of their bedroom, kisses James like he's never kissed Regulus.


End file.
